She plucks that journal from out of the armchair and hands it to
CLARE, who sits doom again unhappily to brood. MRS. MILER makes
a pass or two with a very dirty duster, then stands still. No
longer hearing sounds, CLARE looks up.

MRS. MILER. I wouldn't interrupt yer with my workin,' but 'e likes
things clean. [At a sound from the inner room] That's 'im; 'e's cut
'isself! I'll just take 'im the tobaccer!

She lifts a green paper screw of tobacco from the debris round
the armchair and taps on the door. It opens. CLARE moves
restlessly across the room.

MRS. MILER. [Speaking into the room] The tobaccer. The lady's
waitin'.

CLARE has stopped before a reproduction of Titian's picture
"Sacred and Profane Love." MRS. MILER stands regarding her with
a Chinese smile. MALISE enters, a thread of tobacco still
hanging to his cheek.

MALISE. [Taking MRS. MILER's hat off the table and handing it to
her] Do the other room.

[Enigmatically she goes.]

MALISE. Jolly of you to come. Can I do anything?

CLARE. I want advice-badly.